July 16th, 2003


familiy reunion

Last Saturday, some of my relatives gathered together in a NJ nursing home for my grandmother's 90th birthday party. I met some people for the first time, and will probably never see them again.

Anyways, after about two hours of this, some of us went to a shore house that my father's first cousin MaryJane was renting for $4000 a week in Point Pleasant. I stayed out on the back deck (in the shade, of course) until the bugs noticed that a sugar addict such as myself is delicious to nibble on. I went inside and started reading a copy of Tom Clancy's Red Rabbit. MaryJane came in, and noticed me reading. She asked me if I had read the Harry Potter books. I had read the first four, so she gave me the fifth one! I took a nap on a couch, and woke up for dinner.

We stayed there until about 10:45, and two people got very drunk, one being my sister. She emptied her stomach before we left on a two hour journey back home, but we were "treated" to the sounds of dry heaves and a little bile until she passed out about halfway home. It was slightly amusing, since it was entirely her fault.

On Sunday, I read the fifth Harry Potter book. I quite enjoyed it.

Replay - by Ken Grimwood

p 126

It had seemed, for a while, that he could live perfectly well without sexual contact, and he'd been surprised at how easy it was to kill that part of himself. But he'd soon discovered, much to his unpleasant surprise, just how strong was his need for simple human touch. The loss of that tore at him daily, troubled him both waking and sleeping. Sometimes, he would dream of a woman simply touching his cheek, or of himself holding her head against his chest. The woman in these dreams might be Judy or Linda, even Sharla; more often she was faceless, an abstraction of femininity.

Always, he would awake from those dreams with an overpowering sadness and the familiar knowledge that this deprivation could not be alleviated without the risk of further betrayal and the eventual certainty of absolute erasure. Both pains were too extreme to face again. Better, it seemed, just to let his soul die slowly, bit by lonely bit.